


the people you leave behind

by Signhereformyexistentialcrisis



Category: Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Grief, Hurt No Comfort, Mourning, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signhereformyexistentialcrisis/pseuds/Signhereformyexistentialcrisis
Summary: “What did my brother do this time?” Jay rolled his eyes, making reassuring eye contact with Hailey. She smiled at his antics. His little brother was famous for getting in minor trouble, and the Intelligence unit knew it. Jay absently remembered that Will’s birthday was coming up.Sharon paused at the end of the line. “It’s–“ Her voice caught. Jay sat up in his seat. He knew that tone of voice. He used it all the time, talking to victims' families.“Jay.” Sharon audibly swallowed. “Jay. We’re contacting you because you’re Will’s emergency contact. He collapsed in the ED. I think you better come to Med.”
Relationships: Ethan Choi & Will Halstead, Jay Halstead & Hailey Upton, Jay Halstead & Hank Voight, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Jay Halstead/Hailey Upton, Natalie Manning & Will Halstead, Will Halstead & Connor Rhodes (Chicago Med)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	1. families of choice

They were in the bullpen when Jay got the call. 

The team had just solved a drive-by, some power play by a low-level runner in the Southside Hustlers. For once, the dots were easy to connect, and Voight got a confession out of the suspect in under an hour. 

Everyone was milling about. The detectives were in the vague post-case euphoria where everyone talks about heading to Molly’s early and maybe trying out that new Greek restaurant Hailey swears is genuine. Ruzek and Burgess were laughing about something in the corner. Voight was taking photos off the board while discussing something with Atwater.

Jay, for his part, was glad the case had wrapped up. He and Hailey were still in the honeymoon phase, and he was looking forward to the night off if you caught his drift. There was a time, after everything (after Erin), that he thought he would never be happy again. He couldn’t be more glad he was wrong. Jay stretched backward in his chair and glanced at the clock. It was early, but the case was over, so Jay figured he could head home without Voight reading too much into it.

Right as he moved to gather his things, his phone rang, and all the faces in the bullpen swiveled to him. Jay let out a small sigh and picked up the phone. It was from a number he didn't recognize but had a Chicago area code. It could be a CI from a burner or something to do with one of Intelligence’s ongoing cases. Jay shrugged and picked it up. Better safe than sorry. 

“Detective Halstead? Jay?” The voice of Sharon Goodwin surprised him. Why was the head of the ED at Chicago Med calling him? If it was a police matter, it would’ve gone through dispatch. That left only one scenario. It was Will.

“What did my brother do this time?” Jay rolled his eyes, making reassuring eye contact with Hailey. She smiled at his antics. His little brother was famous for getting in minor trouble, and the Intelligence unit knew it. Jay absently remembered that Will’s birthday was coming up.

Sharon paused at the end of the line. “It’s–“ Her voice caught. Jay sat up in his seat. He knew that tone of voice. He used it all the time, talking to victims' families. 

“Jay.” Sharon audibly swallowed. “Jay. We’re contacting you because you’re Will’s emergency contact. He collapsed in the ED. I think you better come to Med.”

Jay must’ve given something away because Hailey’s eyes met his in alarm. The side conversation between Ruzek and Burgess petered off, and Voight turned to look at Jay with his particular brand of grizzled concern.

“Is he critical? What’s wrong with him?” Jay demanded. This was his little brother. Jay was supposed to have the dangerous job, not Will. Jay wasn’t supposed to get these kinds of calls. Will was a surgeon, Will was safe. 

“I can tell you more when you get here, but Will’s condition is serious. Jay, I know this is a shock, but is there anyone else I need to get in touch with? You’re his only listed contact.”

“No,” Jay answered on autopilot, “Other than the hospital, I’m all he has left.”

Jay heard Sharon promise to meet him at the hospital waiting room, and then the call ended with an ominous click. The room had gone silent, but Jay didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to remember the last time he saw his brother. 

Was it in the ED last week, when Jay was interviewing a witness? No, it must’ve been Tuesday at Molly’s. Will was drinking with Dr. Choi, but he had paused to raise his beer to Jay across the room. At the time, Jay had laughed and raised his beer back but quickly went back to his conversation with Ruzek. Will had looked healthy, Jay thought. Will had just looked like Will, same unruly red hair, same slightly sharp smile, same world weariness carried in the hook of his smile.

When Hailey put a hand on his arm, Jay realized he had gotten to his feet.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at the hospital?” Hailey asked, eyes searching. She must not have liked what she found because she stepped in his way as he tried to push past her.

“I have to go, Hailey. That was Goodwin, she said Will collapsed. She said it’s serious.”

Hailey exchanged a quick glance with Voight, who gave her a small nod. 

“I’ll go with you, then.” She said, shoulders set resolute. 

Jay took that as permission to leave and was half-way down the stairs before Hailey had the chance to stop him. He heard her tell the rest of Intelligence that she’d text with an update, but his mind was miles away.

~

Hailey had been in this waiting room before. She had waited for news on victims, cops, and Jay when he got shot. Her day-long vigil was not a memory that she liked to poke, but it meant that she knew the contours of the space well. Jay was breathing heavily beside her, and Hailey could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

Hailey had been in serious situations before, situations that mobilized the entire city. That being said, this was the first time the hospital chief of staff met her at the door, and Hailey had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t a good sign. The look on Goodwin’s face was an even worse one. Hailey hoped Jay didn’t notice.

Her partner had been vibrating with energy on the car ride over. Jay was fiercely protective of Will. He took the title of big brother seriously and, since Will came back to Chicago, they had been close. They had beers at Molly’s at least once a week and texted back and forth with sarcastic acerbity. 

Hailey likes Will, admires his dedication to his patients, but she’s mature enough to know that she cares about him because Jay cares. Jay loves his brother, and she loves Jay. For her, it’s as simple as that. 

Jay took the last few steps to Goodwin in less than a second and started firing off questions. Hailey hung back a few steps, observing the situation with the detective’s eye she never fully turned off. 

Goodwin’s professional mask cracked a touch at the raw concern in Jay’s eyes. She used a pause in Jay’s volley to start answering, and Hailey watched as Goodwin informed him that Will had a brain bleed no-one had known about that caused him to faint in the middle of the ED. Will had been rushed into surgery, and Dr. Abrams had stopped the bleeding. 

Dr. Manning, who sported two extraordinarily red-rimmed eyes, added that the bleed most likely came from an injury Will had got yesterday when a patient had a seizure. The doctors fell silent for a moment, and Hailey stepped forward.

“What aren’t you saying?” Hailey asked. “Look, me and Jay are both cops, and we know when someone’s holding something back. Just give it to us straight.” She hoped that Jay didn’t mind her interjection, or the use of the royal we, but she wasn’t about to let her partner be lied to by some cagey doctors.

Jay’s gaze swiveled to her, and then back at the doctors accusingly.

Dr. Abrams took a small step forward and cleared his throat. “It was touch-and-go for a while in the OR, and we’re concerned about Will’s brain function.” 

Each word seemed to hit Jay with the force of a blow. 

Dr. Abrams continued. “If Will’s post-surgical coma persists with the current lack of neural activity for more than 24 hours, I will have to declare brain death.” 

Jay, who had been frantic through the whole explanation, began to deflate. Hailey shifted, and from this angle, she could see Jay better. He looked scarily similar to how he looked when Angela Nelson shot him.

Her partner was silent for a moment, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were blank, and his voice came out empty and scraping. “Can I see him?”

Dr. Manning, from her position a few steps behind Ms. Goodwin, answered before Dr. Abrams could. “Yes, I’ll take you to him.” 

Hailey moved to follow, she could see Dr. Marcel about to say something about the ICU’s visitor policy, but before Hailey could gently remind him that she carried a gun, Goodwin intervened, murmuring to let her go. 

While trailing Jay to Will’s room, Hailey texted Burgess a quick _Not Good,_ knowing Kim would pass it on to the rest of Intelligence. Hailey hesitated, then added _Tell Voight Jay needs time_ \- _could end badly._ She could add more details, but knowing Voight and his information-digging ways, it wasn’t necessary. She slipped her phone into her pocket and strode to match pace with Jay. 

Dr. Manning was talking to him as they walked, but it was clear Jay couldn’t really hear her. Hailey suddenly remembered that Dr. Manning was Will’s ex-fiance. Hailey had known Dr. Manning cared about her partner’s brother from the way she was carrying herself– like something vital had shattered– but had assumed it was the loyalty that came with a high-intensity job. Doctors and cops had that in common. 

If she had to, Hailey would guess that Will and her weren’t together now, but she could see the echoes of love etched in the concern on the doctor’s face. 

They finally reached Will’s room, and the door hissed open. Jay stood in the doorway, rigid with shock. Huh, Hailey thought absently, sometimes it is bad as it looks.

~

According to those who knew her, Nat was an excellent doctor, a good mother, and an even better friend. She and Will had their own fraught history, but she would’ve thought that wouldn’t’ve stopped her from being a decent friend. That is, until yesterday. 

The patient, a 52-year old electrician, had been shocked during a routine power grid maintenance. Will and her were doing the diagnostic intake, something they had done hundreds of times before when the patient started seizing. Will held him down while Nat prepared the sedation, but the kid got in a lucky blow, and Will’s skull smacked into the wall behind him.

Once the patient was stable, Nat did a quick exam on a protesting Will, but nothing seemed wrong. Will followed the penlight with annoyance and frowned as Natalie continued to fuss. She could see that he was about to snap and say something they both regretted, so she stepped back. Will gave her a grateful smile and nodded along as she recommended rest and to tell her if he developed a headache. That was the end of it. The rest of the shift was uneventful.

It was a full eighteen hours later when Will collapsed. He was an hour into a double and between patients, chatting at the nurses’ station with Ethan and Dr. Marcel. Natalie only noticed them because she wanted to ask Will about a diagnosis he had made on a shared patient. It was one of his more impressive catches, and she wanted to pick his brain.

She was only a few feet away when Will slurred in the middle of a sentence and raised a hand to the back of his head. Nat watched Dr. Choi ask him if he was alright, but Will waved him off. He straightened, noticed Nat walking towards them, smiled blindingly, and then collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. 

Everything moved very quickly after that. Dr. Choi and Dr. Marcel were on him in a second. As soon as they got him on a gurney in Trauma 1, Will started seizing. They sedated him, and Dr. Abrams was called. At some point, Nat found herself outside Will’s bay, watching as Dr. Abrams assessed him. Time passed strangely, moving around her still form as she watched Will fade. Nat wasn’t a neurosurgeon, but something dark and coiling inside of her told her that she might never speak to Will again. 

Nat was aware of the hospital buzzing behind her; by this point, the entire hospital knew Dr. Halstead had collapsed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dr. Charles and Ms. Goodwin talking with Maggie near the nurses' station. She wondered how long it would take the whole hospital to find out if Will–. No. Natalie refused to think that way.

Dr. Abrams’s voice cut through her musings, “It looks like an intracranial hematoma,” he frowned and flipped through the EEG readings, “A bad one if his intracranial pressure is any indication.” 

Ethan said what they were all thinking, “What caused this? Will doesn’t have any underlying conditions, and I don’t see a record of head trauma….” 

The door hissed, and Natalie stepped into the room. The three doctors’ gazes were on her in a second. 

She choked out, “It was yesterday. A patient seized and Will hit his head. I didn’t see it hit the wall,” Natalie could feel her eyes watering, “I did an exam. He said it was fine, that it barely even hurt.” 

If the doctors were surprised that Will downplayed his injury, they didn’t show it.

Dr. Marcel moved to put on Nat’s shoulder. “Natalie,” he gently intoned, “You couldn’t’ve known.” He pulled her into a hug, and the dam broke. 

Dr. Abrams ignored Natalie’s tears and flipped the chart closed. He let out a sigh and said “That fits. He’s going to need surgery soon to relieve the pressure. Who’s his medical proxy?” 

Natalie hiccupped. “It’s his brother. Jay. The detective.”

Goodwin walked in. “I’ll get in contact with Jay, Nat. It’s alright. Why don’t you go sit down? Have some water?”

Nat squared her shoulders. “Yes. I–” All the monitors went off at once. 

“Pressure’s rising. He needs to go into surgery now. It’s officially emergent. Let’s go, people.” Dr. Abrams strode out of the room. Will, unconscious on a gurney, followed close behind.


	2. when it rains

Daniel had treated friends before, but it never got any easier. He didn’t treat them clinically, of course, but he liked to do what his daughters called “therapizing” as he wandered around the ED. Today, he thought, he would be busy. 

Dr. Manning was currently sitting in Will’s vacated trauma bay, staring at her hands. That was going to take some unpacking, Daniel thought. From what he heard, Dr. Manning did nothing wrong. Of course, convincing her of that was something else entirely. 

Dr. Choi was standing at the nurses' station, arms linked behind his back. He seemed to be talking with Sharon- or at least in Sharon’s general vicinity. The rigidity of his stance wasn’t a good sign. 

Sharon, to her credit, was already making the notification. Dr. Halstead– no– Will, at this moment, Daniel couldn’t stomach calling him by his title. Will, only really had one relative left to notify and all the ED staff knew of him. 

Detective Halstead was a frequent flier, injured on the job an almost worrying amount, and his visits were memorable for their effect on the ED’s resident red-headed doctor. Will, for all his hotheadedness, was remarkably rational, except when it came to his brother. The most shaken Daniel had ever seen him was when Jay was shot; Will had been a wreck and Goodwin had benched him as soon as she got a good look at the fear in his eyes. 

Daniel looked up from his musings. Sharon had finished her call. He moved to meet her.

“Sharon, are you alright?” Daniel motioned towards the long vacated trauma bay, “That can’t’ve been an easy call.”

“Me?” Sharon looked down at her hands, “I’m fine. Dr. Halstead’s brother is on his way.”

“That’s good. That’s good. Is there anything I can do?” Daniel motioned at the shell-shocked looks on most of the ED staff.

“Just…” Sharon sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “From what I know of Will’s brother, this might be difficult. And from what I’ve heard from the OR, it’s not good.” Sharon looked directly at Daniel, eyes crinkling in concern, “and because of Detective Halstead’s job, we will have a waiting room full of antsy law enforcement.” 

“Anything I can do, I will.” Daniel quickly responded. Sharon nodded and moved away toward the entrance.

Daniel sighed. When it rains, he thought, it pours. 

~

Sharon Goodwin did not want to have this conversation. It was an already hectic day, three nurses were out with the flu and Dr. Choi was on a streamlining kick, so Sharon had to kick into overdrive to compensate. 

When she heard Will had collapsed, she was in the middle of a quarterly budget meeting. To her shame, her first reaction was a spike of annoyance. She assumed it was exhaustion, or dehydration, something inconvenient and so very typical of Will. Instead, she got a frantic page from Dr. Abrams’s scrub nurse. 

From there it was a blur until she called Will’s next-of-kin. Jay’s voice made reality sink into her bones. There was a very real chance she would be telling Will’s brother to prepare for a funeral. 

Will was challenging, but, at his core, he was a good man. The extinct kind, with a reckless drive to help that he carried in every fiber of his being.

Now, he lay comatose in a hospital bed, while his brother looked on. The very same brother that she did not want to have this conversation with. 

“Jay,” Sharon said softly. The man didn’t turn around, but his golden-haired partner glanced at Sharon. She frowned and tapped Jay’s shoulder.

“Dr. Goodwin.” Jay’s voice rasped.

“We need to talk about options.” Sharon said, “As Dr. Abrams informed you, Will’s lack of neural activity is concerning. It’s been about six hours since he got out of surgery, and the EEG hasn’t shown any spikes of activity. If this state persists, Will will be declared brain-dead.” 

Jay just stared at her with this hollow look, like someone had cored out his heart and left it to bake in the sun. 

After a pained pause, Sharon continued, “Will’s medical directive indicated he did not want extraordinary measures taken. Will is an organ donor, and if brain-death is determined, we would need to proceed quickly.”

“Is there any chance at all?” The blonde woman, Detective Upton, Sharon remembered, interrupted. 

“A minute one. Maybe 1 in 1000.” Sharon answered.

Jay’s laugh startled them both. “You know,” he gasped out, “That’s what Will told me when Dad was in a bed just like this.” Tears pooled in his eyes, and his voice got a little louder. “1 in 1000. What are the odds it happens twice? Hell, three times. Mom to Cancer, Dad to heart disease and a fire, Will to a fucking workplace accident.” 

Hailey moved to comfort him, but Jay pushed her away. 

“He’s my younger brother. He’s not meant to–” Jay’s voice caught, seemingly involuntarily, because he pushed the words out, “He’s not meant to die before I am.” 

Jay’s hands were shaking, and Sharon felt a wave of empathy swamp her. She wanted to comfort him, or fix Will, or… Sharon didn’t know. All she knew how to do at this moment was her job.

“Jay, I need to know what you want to do.”

“We wait 24 hours. Then, if he’s still,” Jay shuddered, “If he’s still gone, we donate his organs.” Jay closed his eyes. “Will would want to save lives if he could. He would be so pissed if I tried to stop him.” Sharon nodded, and moved to leave, but hesitated. 

“Is it alright if some doctors came to visit?” The  _ to say goodbye  _ was left unsaid.

Jay nodded and resumed staring at the slow rise-and-fall of his brother’s chest.

The conversation was over. Sharon left and turned to walk back towards the ED. She had the burden of news to deliver.

~

This was not the first time Ethan Choi had lost a friend, but he was going to make damn sure it was the last.

When he and Natalie entered the room, Dr. Marcel and Maggie trailing behind them, Jay didn’t stir. The detective wasn’t asleep, just sitting staring blankly at his brother’s hospital bed. Will, or, Ethan thought bitterly, what was left of Will, looked terrible. His signature red-hair was gone –shaved off for surgery– and the EEG remained silent and non-responsive. Will was paler than Ethan had ever seen him, chest barely rising and falling as the vent breathed for him. 

Ethan couldn’t believe this was all that was left of Will Halstead. The two doctors had their differences, certainly, but Will was a firecracker, poised to go off at the slightest hint of injustice or chance to save the unsavable or diagnose the undiagnosable. It’s what makes him such a good doctor. No, Ethan sighed, looking at his friend in the hospital bed, it’s what made him such a good doctor.

Natalie let out a little gasp and gently pushed past Ethan’s shoulder. She stopped at the head of the bed and raised her hand as if to touch Will’s shoulder. With a choked cry, she tore her hand away. She was muttering to herself, too low for Ethan to catch completely, but a few fragments floated back to Ethan’s position at the end of the bed. Ethan heard  _ you promised  _ and something that sounded like  _ could’ve saved you. _ With his military-bred pragmatism, Ethan made a mental note to make Nat meet with Dr. Charles at her earliest convenience. 

After a few minutes, Nat’s tears slowed from a stream to a drip. She looked up, and Ethan could see the pain twisting her expression. He remembered that this wasn’t the first time Nat had lost someone close to her. Screw a mental note, Ethan would walk Nat to that appointment with Dr. Charles. They had lost too many people already. With a shudder, Nat stepped back and motioned for Ethan to take her place.

Ethan didn’t have anything prepared to say and found himself speechless. As a doctor, he knew Will was gone, but a part of him expected Will to sit up and start fussing about having lost his hair. Will wasn’t one to stay down after being knocked out. A more bitter part of him reminded him that everyone gets knocked out in the end. After a few moments of silent musing, Ethan just nodded at Will’s unconscious form, murmuring an emphatic  _ you did good,  _ before stepping back. 

Maggie took his place in an instant. She was crying openly and didn't seem to care. She talked to him like he was alive; informing him that he was a good doctor and a good friend and that the hospital was lucky to have him. After her last statement, Maggie pulled up his blanket and patted his hand. Unlike Ethan and Nat, she addressed Jay next.

“He loved you completely.” Maggie raised her voice to get Jay's attention, “Don’t you dare forget that.”

Jay just blinked at her, then slowly turned back to staring at Will. Maggie let out a small, grief-tainted sigh, and turned to leave. She grabbed Nat on her way out, arm over the dark-haired woman’s shoulder as if Maggie alone could hold back the tidal waves of emotion Nat was drowning in. Ethan moved to follow and tapped Dr. Marcel’s shoulder on the way out.

“I know that look. There was nothing we could’ve done.” 

Dr. Marcel inclined his head in agreement, but Ethan knew better. A battle for another day. Today, he was mourning a friend.

~

Jay would never come back here if Will died. It didn’t matter if he got injured on the job. If he was conscious, he would reroute himself to Lakeshore or Baptist or anywhere but this fucking building. Intellectually, he knew it was unfair; that Will would never want him to risk his health for some arbitrary dislike of this particular hospital, but Jay stopped caring somewhere around hour six of no change at Will’s bedside. 

Hailey left at some point; to update Intelligence, he assumed. Jay appreciated her coming, knew that she must be worried about him, but he couldn’t even bring himself to turn to say goodbye. Some doctors came to the door, but none he recognized. He thought they were giving him space, but he didn’t particularly care. His grief was enough. He didn’t have the energy to worry about anyone else’s.

There was a weight behind his temple, crushing him as sat holding Will’s limp hand. Jay couldn’t imagine being the last one left. It was always going to be him in the casket, with starched dress-blues and crying cops. Will was meant to be who they handed the flag to; the younger brother who could save everyone but his kin. He imagined Will would be angry with him if he was here, really here, instead of this empty husk hooked up to a machine. He had always hated it when Jay talked about his death like an inevitability. 

He used to smack Jay on the back of the head and remind him that they were the only two Halsteads left and that Jay had too many near-misses to ever really die. Jay would laugh when Will said that, Afghanistan being one of many reminders of his unfortunate mortality, but Will would just smirk like had won the argument. Will would never do that again. He would never do anything again. 

Every memory of Will his traitorous brain dragged up pushed Jay deeper into his grief. He was alone in a hurricane of every word his brother had ever said to him. Every memory of roughhousing, of comfort, of malice, of joy, twisted into a storm that drowned any hope Jay may have had. Will was an idiot sometimes, but he was good; good in a way that Jay’s police career had taught him was rare and something to be prized. Will had wanted to help so badly, and he died doing it. 

Jay wasn’t angry at the patient; there was no point in that, but he was sure as hell was angry at something. He genuinely didn’t understand what gave his family such astronomically shitty luck. A part of him even wondered what the point of living was, if there was no one left to bury you when you’re gone. He squashed that thought with prejudice. His unit would bury him, and Will would never forgive him if he let himself spiral. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Jay startled. 

“Jay?” Voight’s gravelly voice surprised him. Jay snapped to attention.

“Sarge” Voight didn’t respond, and Jay leaped to the next conclusion, “I’m sorry I took off like that. If you need someone to cover–” Voight raised his hand to silence him.

“Don’t worry about that. We don’t have an active case, and even if we did, this is more important.” 

Voight looked right at Jay, and Jay paused for a moment on how awful he must look, motionless in a hospital chair clutching the hand of his brain-dead brother. Jay wondered if it reminded Voight of how Justin died. 

Voight spoke, “Goodwin filled me in on the bare bones. Jay, you can have all the time you need.”

“Thank you.” Jay forced the response and looked back at his brother. “I will.”

Voight seemed a little taken-aback by this, but Jay didn’t care that he wasn’t keeping up appearances. His brother was gone, and, in about seven hours, Jay would have to say goodbye.


	3. goodbyes

Crockett didn’t know Will well, but he knew Nat, and the grief she gave off was enough to level a building. She wasn’t here now- couldn’t bear to hear him make the official declaration of brain death and organ viability- and Crockett didn’t blame her. 

Will’s brother was still in that same chair he had sunken into all those hours ago, but he looked more alert. Probably thanks to the coffee his blonde partner had brought by a few minutes ago.

Crockett went through the motions of the exam, reaffirming Dr. Abrams’ final test ten minutes prior, leaning hard on the clinical detachment they teach you at medical school. If the patient wasn’t Will, he could say those words. If he was Will, then… well, then it gets harder. And this exam, the cardiothoracic clearance for organ donation, was too important for him to botch. He owed to Will, to his memory, to the memory of him that each doctor in the hospital carried with them. Crockett steeled himself and turned to Jay.

“As you know, your brother just passed the threshold where we can comfortably say there is no brain activity and no real possibility of future brain activity. The exam I just conducted was to assess Will’s cardiovascular health to determine whether he could donate his organs in accordance with his medical directive.”

“Well?” Jay interrupted, “Can he?” Jay’s voice was solid and was laced with something that might’ve been grief or maybe even anger. Dr. Marcel was quick to respond.

“Yes. He should be able to donate most, if not all of his vital organs. He will save quite a few lives.” 

Jay’s shoulders dropped, the hostility bleeding out of him. His partner, who had hung back until now, stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Jay,” she said softly, “They’re going to prep him for surgery soon. It might be time to say goodbye. The unit is out in the waiting room. They’re going to stay until it's all over.”

Jay glanced at her for a second, processing her words. He nodded once, slowly, eyes never leaving his brother. 

“We’ll give you some time,” Crockett added, voice gentle. The partner stepped out and Crockett followed. They both paused for a moment after the door hissed shut, watching through the glass as Jay said something over-and-over to Will. He couldn’t quite read Jay’s lips, but Jay’s partner took in a quick breath.

“What’s he saying?” Crockett asked, eyes fixed on the gentle shake of Jay’s shoulders as he cried. The blonde woman next to him startled at Crockett's voice, but answered anyway.

“Brother.” She turned her eyes towards the ceiling, “He’s saying ‘Brother’.”

~

Daniel found Sharon in her office. She was going through papers and clicking something on her computer at the same time. Daniel knocked gently on the doorframe to get her attention. She looked up.

“Daniel? Is something wrong?” Sharon asked.

“No, no, just coming to check on you. I made my rounds earlier through the ED staff. No one is handling it particularly well, but everyone seems to be pushing through this shift. I’ll need to talk to Dr. Manning soon. She seems to be taking it very hard.”

Sharon sighed, “That’s a good idea. All we can do is provide the option for help.” She clicked her pen shut. “As for me, I’ve been working with the transplant coordinator for the past few hours.” 

Daniel stopped nodding and looked at her, “For Will?”

“Yes. His brother signed off, and we all know it's what he would’ve wanted.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “These are the last people he’s ever going to save, and I’m going to make certain everything goes off without a hitch.”

Daniel could see the resolve in her eyes, and he was reminded of how much he admired the hospital’s chief of staff. The psychiatrist in him told him she was just trying to wrestle back control in a situation where she felt powerless, but he ignored it. Right now, he was a friend. 

“It will go well, Sharon.” Daniel said, “Dr. Marcel and the other surgeons will make sure of it.” She stood up and met Daniel in the middle of the room.

“They’re starting soon.” Sharon closed her eyes, and, when she opened them, they were bright with unshed tears. “Jay’s in the waiting room. I said I’d update him. He wanted to stay until–” Sharon cut herself off.

Daniel nodded in shared understanding. “I’ll go with you.” He linked arms like they were in elementary school, and Sharon leaned in. 

As they walked down the hallway, Daniel was overcome by a sense of finality as the day’s events finally took up residence in his soul. Sharon noticed his small shudder and squeezed his arm reassuringly. 

“You know what I’ve learned over the years? People die, Daniel, but they never really leave.” She caught his eyes as they rounded a corner. “We’ll love him, we’ll mourn him, and we’ll remember him. And we’ll do it together.”

As they entered the waiting room, Daniel decided that he liked that sentiment, liked the idea that even when we’re gone, we leave echoes of ourselves in the people we loved, and who loved us. Death, he thought, is not fair, and it is not kind, but it is also not the end.

~

Hank sat apart from the unit as they waited. They were all sitting quietly near the door, watching Jay as much as they watched the clock. Most of them were subtle about it, glancing at Jay’s hunched shoulders and clenched hands out of the corner of their eye, but Hailey had abandoned all pretense. She was right next to him, murmuring soft nothings as she rubbed small circles into his back. The way she acted today confirmed a niggling suspicion of Hank’s about the nature of their partnership. Once upon a time, he might’ve objected, but tragedy has its own rules. Who was he to deny Jay any bit of comfort?

When Hank had heard about Will, he had immediately found out which patient injured him. A part of him knew it was pointless– it’s not like the patient intended to kill their doctor– but he needed to know for Jay’s sake. Jay probably wouldn’t blame the man, but grief made you do funny things, and Hank wanted to have all of his bases covered.

The patient was David York, a father-of-three with undiagnosed epilepsy. By all accounts, he was a stand-up guy with no prior history of anything, let alone violence. Hank had tracked him down– he had been released to recuperate– and asked him about the incident with Will. David didn’t even remember it. When Hank told him about Will’s injury and likely death, the man had been distraught. He had asked if there was anything he could do, but Hank had advised against it. Hank had a bad feeling about bringing the man responsible for Will’s death to a hospital where they had just lost one of their own. 

The waiting room door hissed open, and Dr. Marcel stepped through. With Hailey’s help, Jay stood up to meet him. 

“It went very well,” Dr. Marcel said, “There were no complications, and the organs are being transported to their recipients as we speak.”

At these words, Jay seemed to sag in something close to relief. Hank saw him take a deep breath, and then speak, voice uncharacteristically weak, “Can I ask a question?”

Dr. Marcel looked startled but quickly nodded. 

“How many–” Jay audibly swallowed, and tried again, “How many people did he help?” 

Hank noticed the question was worded awkwardly, but Dr. Marcel seemed to understand.

“Seven people. He saved seven people today.” The doctor’s voice was solid and sure. He reached toward Jay and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing, Jay. This is what Will would’ve wanted.”

Jay nodded and stepped back. The unit had all gotten to their feet by that point, in the off chance that Jay would need them. 

As Jay moved to leave, Hank stopped him with a gentle but firm, “Halstead.” 

Jay turned to look at Hank, and, by the hollow look in his eyes, Hank knew this was a conversation he needed to have now.

“Will is gone, and it’s not fair.” Hank almost stopped at the outraged look on Hailey’s face, but pushed through anyway. This was something Jay needed to hear. “It’s not fair, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. But no matter what you think right now, it doesn’t mean you’re alone.” Hank motioned at the unit. “Don’t forget that.”

Jay seemed to notice the gathered crowd in the waiting room for the first time. Trudy was sitting with Mouch in a corner, talking low with Sylvie Brett. Ruzek and Burgess were arm in arm a few feet from him, eyes creased in concern. Half the hospital, or at least any one of Will’s colleagues who weren’t on shift, were gathered in loose, somber groups. Atwater was standing near Hank, watching for any signs that he was needed. Finally, Jay’s eyes landed on Hailey, who was still holding his arm, like her belief alone could steady him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Hank could see him trying to breathe through his grief.

When he opened them, he was looking at Hank. “Thank you. I won’t forget it.” 

With that, he walked out into the Chicago night. Hailey followed, but paused at the entrance and looked right at Hank as she spoke.

“I won’t let him.” The certainty in her voice was enough for him. Jay was one of his, and in the days to come, Hank would do whatever he could to help. 

~


	4. interlude: seven people Will saved

Will’s liver went to a young mother named Lucy Walker with chronic cirrhosis. She had been on the transplant list for two years as the scar tissue got worse and worse. The surgery went off seamlessly and she was reunited with her seven-year-old daughter. After her transplant, she wrote a book about healthcare that prompted a reform bill in the Ohio State House. She was credited with saving thousands of lives. She lived another forty years. 

Will’s right kidney went to a children’s book author in Seattle. Jerry Cross was thirty years old and had written three best-sellers about a penguin who traveled through space. His sister sat with him the entire time he was in the hospital. Months after his transplant, he went to Chicago and met with Dr. Marcel. He named a character in his next book after Will.

Will’s left kidney went to a fashion designer named Jolene Wu in New York City. She had been mugged, beaten, and the doctors couldn’t save her kidneys. There had been very little hope because of the urgency of the situation until Will’s status came through UNOS. After her surgery, the young woman fell in love with a fellow patient, and, with her girlfriend’s encouragement, created a fashion line made for those with external medical devices. It got a lot of press, and she received a special commendation from the American Council of Fashion Designers. In her free time, she volunteered with recent transplant patients.

Will’s intestines went to a ten-year-old with Short Bowel Syndrome in Rochester, Minnesota. The boy, named Henry Montenelli, had been sick his whole life, and by the time the doctors at the Mayo Clinic realized what they were dealing with, he needed a transplant. The surgery came just in time, and Henry made a full recovery. He grew up to be a competitive figure skater who finished with a silver medal in the 2034 Winter Olympics. 

Will’s pancreas went to the daughter of an extremely wealthy media mogul in Boston. All the money her father had couldn't cure Isabel Worthington’s pancreatic cancer, and she had resigned herself to her fate. The day they got the news she was getting a pancreas, her father cried for the first time in fifteen years. Her father tracked down her donor’s family, and, when Isabel was eighteen, she flew to Chicago to meet with Jay. After that conversation, she decided she needed to make her life mean something and enrolled in the pre-med track at Harvard. Her father supported her, and Isabel would go on to be on the medical research team that made a breakthrough on weaponizing the immune system to fight cancer. She named her first son William.

Will’s lungs went to a cystic fibrosis patient in a hospital on the other side of Chicago. The kid getting the lungs was named Farid Ali, and his parents were first-generation immigrants. The transplant went very well, and Farid had a speedy recovery. He started listening to music during his recovery, and, by the time he was released, knew he wanted to play music professionally. Farid died at the age of 82, after a decorated career as the first chair Violin at the Chicago Symphony. 

Will’s heart went to a patient at Chicago Med. Caroline Jeffords, a UChicago student, had a genetic condition that caused rapidly deteriorating heart function. Will was the one who made the diagnosis. When the doctors told her a heart had become available, she was ecstatic, but puzzled by their lack of enthusiasm. She asked, innocently enough, if someone had told Dr. Halstead, who she had developed a little crush on. They were silent. Goodwin came in soon after that to explain. Dr. Marcel performed the transplant brilliantly, and Caroline was soon in recovery. During her recuperation, she made friends with her doctors and saw the way they looked at her like she was a walking ghost. Caroline would forget many things about her sickness, but she never forgot the echoes of someone else in the way her doctors treated her. Caroline graduated with a degree in photography two years later. She did a photo series on grief that won her a Pulitzer Prize. Her subjects were Chicago’s first responders. 


	5. epilogue

Sylvie Brett liked the idea of a wake over a funeral. There was something painfully human in the attempt to celebrate life in the midst of loss.

She had only known Will Halstead in passing, but she knew his brother a little better. Jay had sent out a blanket invitation to anyone who wanted to come after Dr. Manning had offered her house, and Sylvie had taken him up on it.

From her perch at the bottom of Dr. Manning’s staircase, Sylvie saw every member of 51–even Gallo-– milling about the room. She had thought she was the only one who would go, had gotten as far as her car before she realized everyone was coming too. She shouldn't've been surprised, considering Will had saved most of their lives at one point or another. That’s what being an ED doc in Chicago got you, she thought, dozens of first responders who know you by name. 

Absently, Sylvie wondered how many houses it would take to gather all the people Will saved in one place. Two? Three? Ten? How many people had Will pulled back from the brink? 

Swirling her glass, Sylvie took another look at the room. It was full- very full. Apart from 51, she saw the entire CPD Intelligence unit as well as Trudy and other officers out of the 21st Precinct. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they were here. The reason was standing at the living room window, just barely in Sylvie’s sightline. 

Jay Halstead looked pretty terrible, Sylvie thought, but still better than she had feared. Chicago’s first responders had an extremely effective information ( _ read _ :  _ gossip _ ) network, and it had taken less than a day for the whole city to know that Jay was taking his brother’s death hard. 

Sylvie noted that Jay wasn’t crying and had at least two of his Unit within an arms reach, but that didn’t really reassure her. He had the same look on his face that Cruz got sometimes when talking about Otis. The same look that Severide had when reminiscing about Shay. It was something at the intersection of grief and longing, with just a hint of anger at the things they lost, at the conversations they would never have again, at the faces they would never see smile. 

Someone tapped Jay on the shoulder and he turned to respond. It was a doctor she recognized from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place. Jay actually spoke with him for a while, and Sylvie was vaguely surprised. Until now, he had been mostly floating around nodding emptily at people’s condolences. 

Matt put a hand on her arm, startling her out of her staring.

“Jay’s going to make a speech in a few minutes–his version of a eulogy because Will was cremated– and Cruz was wondering if you wanted to come stand with us,” Matt said, looking down at Sylvie’s full glass. 

She followed his eyes, and let out a sigh. “I wasn't feeling much like drinking.” At Matt’s look, she added, “No, before you ask, I didn’t know Will that well. It’s just…” Sylvie sighed again, and continued, “It just seems so random, what happened, and, you know, I see all these people whose lives were changed for knowing this person, and I can’t help but think about myself, and who would come to my funeral, or wake, I guess. And–“ Sylvie cut herself off with a small shudder. 

Gently, Matt put a hand on her shoulder. “For the living, death is the hardest thing. Seeing a room like this–“ he motioned at the large group of Will’s friends and colleagues, “It gives me a little hope. Will died, but so many people will remember him.” He playfully poked her in the shoulder with his free hand. “So many people would remember you, god forbid” 

Sylvie nodded, Matt’s presence was comfortingly familiar. “Let’s go stand with the house, then. I could use some family time.” 

Matt’s respondent smile pushed the melancholy away for a moment. And maybe that was enough, Sylvie thought, just having one moment of joy in the middle of this random, unfair, and hematoma-causing universe. 

~

As Connor made small talk with his former colleagues, the part of him that hated himself whispered that maybe Connor could’ve saved Will, if only he had been here. That was nonsense, of course, considering Will died from a brain bleed, but it whispered anyway. Leaving Chicago had been self-preservation, a choice to save whatever was left of his sanity, and he didn’t regret it. 

Funnily enough, the last person from Chicago Connor had talked to was Will. The red-head was working on a clinical trial for heart failure, Connor remembered and reached out for Connor’s opinion. They had chatted for almost two hours over the phone, and it was refreshing. Will had mellowed a bit, and Connor was more settled than he had been in years. The combination meant they were almost old friends, any antagonism left somewhere in the white halls of their shared past.

That had been a month ago; now, Connor was at his friend’s wake. It was unfair, but after Connor’s mother died, he stopped expecting the universe to be fair. 

Connor strode to Natalie’s open kitchen where most of the hospital’s delegation had taken up residence. A glance told him his former co-workers weren’t handling Will’s death well. There was too much of an edge to Ethan’s smile as he spoke slowly to a shaky-looking Dr. Marcel. April had a white-knuckle grip on her glass, and the lost way Natalie puttered around her island said more than any words could’ve. Maggie just stood in silence next to Goodwin and Dr. Charles. 

They all noticed his arrival; Nat even gave him a weak hug, but their hearts weren’t in the reunion. Connor didn't blame them; his heart wasn’t in it either. As she plated some grocery store-brownies, Natalie broke the quiet.

“Did you know he wanted kids?” All of the eyes in the kitchen swiveled to her. Undaunted by the scrutiny, voice shaking just a little as she continued, “When we were together, he would talk about it sometimes. Had all these ridiculous ideas about teaching his kids to ice skate at Daley Park. When I was putting Owen to bed last night, it occurred to me that he never got the chance to have that.” Nat glanced at each of them, then back down at her plated brownies. No one responded, Connor thought there wasn't really anything to say. Death was a book slammed shut, a chapter cut-off. 

April stepped forward anyway. “He was so excited about this clinical trial he just submitted for approval.” The non-sequitur seemed to startle the group, but no one interrupted. “It was to slow the effects of the same heart disease his father had, you know, and he said to me that he thought it really had a chance of working.” 

By this point, the doctors and nurses were clued into what April was doing, and so Dr. Charles spoke up. “Did he ever tell you about his first day at Med?” Without waiting for a response, Dr. Charles continued, “There was this man who blew himself up in the ED, and, for a while, everyone thought it was Ebola. Will saved a lot of people that day. I had never met a doctor who worked so well with that much adrenaline in a room. He didn't freeze, not once. ” 

Connor laughed, “He actually did tell me that one. It was the day after the lawsuit, and we were at Molly’s, both very drunk off this bottle of tequila Jay had bought him. We swapped stories for a while. He told me it still wasn’t the worst first day he had at a job.”

Natalie smiled at that, and, with every anecdote about Will, the room swung a little more towards nostalgia and away from depressive what-ifs. Eventually, Connor turned to go.

“Where are you off to?” Natalie asked. 

“I was going to go pay my respects to Will’s brother,” Connor said. Ethan and Natalie exchanged a look. 

“Jay’s, well, he’s not handling Will being gone very well,” Ethan explained. “I talked to a few people from his precinct, and apparently he asked for space.” 

Connor rocked back on his heels. “I’m going to go anyway. There’s something I want to say.” The assembled doctors shrugged as if to say, on your head be it, and Conner went.

It wasn’t hard to find Jay Halstead. He was staring out Natalie’s living room window, with a loose orbit of police officers around him. Connor walked right to him. Jay looked up.

“Dr. Rhodes. I’m glad you could make it.” Jay’s voice was hoarse, and his eyes were red.

“I wouldn’t’ve missed it.” Connor shifted forward. “Look, Jay, I’m sure you're sick of condolences, so I won’t say I’m sorry. I knew Will pretty well when I worked with him, and I wanted to tell you that he died making a difference. He didn’t die pointlessly. He only did what we all would’ve. There is absolutely no point in torturing yourself with what-ifs. Will wouldn’t want that for you.”

Jay became more alert as he finished his spiel. He met Connor’s eyes and nodded once, with some force. 

“Thanks.” Jay’s voice was solid for the first time in the conversation. Connor moved to leave, but Jay’s voice stopped him. “Will would’ve liked that you came. He admired you.”

Connor felt those words echo somewhere behind his eyes, but painted on a smile anyway, “And I him. I won’t forget him, not as a doctor, and not as a friend.”

Jay’s coworkers pulled him away after that, but Connor had what he needed. Closure, maybe, or perhaps just the doctor in him was happy he could take even a tiny iota of Jay’s pain away.

Connor meant what he said, though; he wouldn’t forget Will. No one who loved him would. Will would be in every patient his friends treated, every life they saved. Will’s memorial will be the people he left behind, all better doctors and better friends than they were when they met him.

Jay was going to give Will’s eulogy soon, but Connor had already said goodbye.

~

Jay motioned at Hailey, and Ruzek and Burgess quickly herded the guests into a loose circle around him. 

“Before I begin, I want to thank everyone for coming, and helping me say goodbye to my brother. He would’ve liked how many people came. He could be vain like that sometimes.” 

A few of Will’s friends giggled at that, and Jay cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Will wanted to be an astronaut when he was six. I was only eight and didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, but I convinced him red-heads couldn’t be astronauts, and Will believed me. We had our rough times, with Mom and Dad and everything in-between, but Will never lost that faith in me. Even after he went to college for ten years to be a doctor, and knew better.” 

Jay noted a few people were crying, namely Nat and Maggie from Will’s work. Hailey had a look in her eyes that Jay didn’t have the energy to decipher. He pushed through.

“Will was somehow one of the smartest people I know and also a complete idiot. He worked almost entirely based on an unshakable moral code and a burning drive to help. Nuance wasn’t always his strong suit, but he was the most loyal person I’ve ever known.” Jay wiped his eyes and forced a weak smile. 

“He was my brother, and I loved him. I wish he had gotten more time, but I’m glad I got the time I got with him. I said earlier that he would have liked how many people were here, and that’s true. He would’ve been glad he made a difference. And he did. In my life, and in many of yours.” 

At the last line, Jay looked up at his friends and family before him. With a deep breath, Jay raised his glass, and the rest of the room followed suit. 

“To Will,” Jay said. 

“To Will.” The room echoed.

The people began to disperse, but Jay stood still. He wasn’t superstitious, but he could feel Will with him in this moment, could almost hear his voice ribbing him for being a sap in his speech. 

Hailey walked up to him and hugged him, unprompted.

“That was beautiful,” She said, sniffing back tears of her own. Jay just smiled sadly. 

“I’m gonna head out, Hailey. Before you ask, just to my car. I'll meet you at my place in about an hour. Just want some time alone.” 

Hailey looked skeptical, but let Jay go. The wind bit at his face as he walked. The night was clear and cold and he felt it in his heart. Will was gone, he thought, gone, gone, gone. Jay remembered the day their parents brought Will home, small and wrinkled and red, eyes screwed shut against the world.

The memories hit him with each intake of breath. Breathing through them was like swallowing glass. The evening was a lost cause. The grief was too much and struggling just sunk him deeper. Tonight, Jay thought, I’ll mourn. Tomorrow, too. Maybe one day, he hoped, I’ll just remember the good, the memories of love and family, and the certainty of brotherhood. Will would expect no less. 

~

Our lives are not our own; from womb to tomb, we are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness we birth our future. 

David Mitchell,  _ Cloud Atlas _


End file.
